


it's not a real slumber party until someone summons a demon

by Kleenexwoman



Series: How many times does an angel fall? [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-02 07:52:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19437130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kleenexwoman/pseuds/Kleenexwoman
Summary: "horror movie trope where dumb teens summon a demon for funsies except it actually works and it’s just, crowley in pajamas all inconvenienced or something and then, you know, shenanigans ensue or whatever"





	1. Chapter 1

Crowley was bored and peckish, but also feeling lazy, and not sure if he was peckish because he was bored or if he was actually hungry. Probably for company–-he had come to associate eating with Aziraphale, but there was the matter of being lazy. He thumbed through his phone contacts. “Pizza…angel…or mice. I do have those mice in the freezer. Could always put the mice on the pizza.” Aziraphale liked pizza, but there was also the prospect of spending an evening watching Alton Brown humiliate trained chefs on TV and eating demonic junk food, two things the angel didn’t really enjoy. He had just reached the mental compromise of a cupcake decorating show and two different pizzas when the ground opened up beneath him.

His first assumption, that Hell had seen fit to recall him in the most efficient way possible, didn’t seem to be correct. Hell had linoleum floors that were often sticky, but it usually didn’t smell like a combination of popcorn and cucumber melon body spray, and it also usually didn’t have cheap wood siding and a pool table. Summoned, then. He looked at the hand that had landed in the sticky. The sticky stuff on the floor had glitter in it. Glitter was also not especially infernal, no matter how hard it was to get out anything you didn’t want to have glitter on it.

There was normally a whole script you’d have to go through for a summoning–it was very impressive and contained a lot of threats, promises, and thees and thous–but Crowley hadn’t gotten through millennia on Earth by indulging a work ethic. Also, his summoners had used glitter glue. And they were wearing pajamas with cartoon characters instead of proper black robes. Professionalism could probably be dispensed with in this situation. He let the glitter glue disintegrate off his hand, then glared at the girl holding the bowl of popcorn. “That had better be for me.”

Her mouth dropped open, revealing half-chewed popcorn stuck to braces. Crowley decided he didn’t really want popcorn. He turned to a short redhead holding a large leather book. She wore Miss Piggy pajamas and a smug expression. Probably the leader. “Look, it’s Friday night, I’ve got places to be, just tell me what you lot want so I can get out of here.”

They didn’t hesitate.

“So, I really need to pass this test–”

“Does Bobby like me?”

“I need my braces off in time–”

“–or else they’re going to ground me for LIFE–”

“I mean, does he LIKE me like me–”

“–I’ll look like a dork in my bat mitzvah pictures–”

“Can you make it so I pass all of my tests, actually–”

“–and if he doesn’t like me can you tell me who does?”

“It doesn’t have to be all A’s, I’m okay with a B-plus–”

“–and can you make me a blonde?”

The redhead slammed the book shut. “Lauren, that is such a dumb thing to ask a demon. You can just dye your hair.”

“But my mom won’t let me!” Lauren wailed.

Crowley ran his fingers through his hair. He wanted a drink, snapped his fingers, and got one. It was pink and had an umbrella in it and a curly straw. He hadn’t intended that. “She’s got a point. You can’t let your mother tell you what to do all your life. Go blonde, you’d look good. Dye your hair blue if you want.” Disobeying your parents was one of the big ten, that was a very good one. He pointed at the girl who’d been worried about her test. “In fact, screw what your parents think, and screw grades. You want tests all your life? Don’t even bother with that test. Run off and–” What did kids run off to do today? “Become an Instagram influencer.”

“Um, I actually want to be a marine biologist.”

“Oh! Saving the whales. Better study, then. No way ‘round it. Sorry.” He sipped the drink. It tasted like coconut. “Who was asking about Bobby?”

“I don’t think I want to know now.”

“Yeah, good choice.” Crowley had no idea who Bobby was, how he felt about the girl with the bright orange fingernails and bunny slippers, or how he’d go about finding that out. He turned to the leader. “What about you, Miss-Piggy-with-the-book? You must want something. Or did you summon me up to braid my hair?”

“I want magic powers,” she said firmly.

Crowley gestured to the glitter glue. It was a mess. “You’ve already got them. This really shouldn’t have worked. Just…practice.” He pulled one of Aziraphale’s business cards out of thin air, which was really impressive because Aziraphale had absolutely refused to get business cards printed up, and handed it to her. “Loads of occult books in this shop. Bring your pocket money.”

She looked dubious, but pocketed it. Hopefully she’d stop by and Crowley would have a good afternoon’s entertainment watching the angel try and get rid of a very determined, very powerful little witch.

“All right,” Crowley said, “show’s over? Can I go now?”

Bunny slippers raised her hand. “Actually…Can I braid your hair?”

“How are you going to do that? I’m in a magic circle. I can’t get out, and you really shouldn’t step in.”

“Okay, well I don’t know everything about how magical circles work, and you don’t need to be a jerk about it.” Bunny slippers rolled her eyes.

“Demon,” Crowley said. “It is part of my job description to be a–look, do any of you want to sell your soul?”

A chorus of noes. There was a reason that bit normally came earlier in the spiel, but he had never been a very good salesman.


	2. Chapter 2

Crowley didn't necessarily love being summoned by humans, but it was part of the job to be on call, so it was seldom more than an inconvenience. He'd done all he could throughout the centuries to deflect summonings. Sometimes it meant leaking a few classified sigils, sometimes it meant physically eating pages from the Goetia that had your name on them (not as nice as goetta on a sandwich). Sometimes it meant finding someone else named A. Crowley and giving them just enough power to reroute some calls. Good thing the lad liked drama just as much, and had a lot more patience for minions and mountain-climbing. Crowley had learned a rather nice rice pilaf recipe from him. 

A call snuck through occasionally, when it was the Right Person. David Bowie had been Top Priority, for example. Crowley had spent a week fretting over the right outfit for the occasion, only to have the poor boy keel over and retch half-digested red bell pepper and milk all over his three-piece suit. Crowley had the suit framed after the vomit dried. It was better than an autograph. 

Pajama parties, though. That was a new one. Most of those assignments got snapped up by ambitious young demons trying to get out of the basement for a bit and build a reputation as an urban legend. "What is there about my demonic essence that reaches out to glitter glue, of all things?" His gaze fell upon the Bowie-bevomited suit, which still pulsed with a hint of the star's silver-blue magick. 

Probably best they'd gotten him instead of just about anyone else, really. A bunch of kids in fuzzy slippers didn't deserve anything worse than dubious life advice. Crowley preferred not to see humans with their skin inside out, he didn't like chasing scared people through dreams (he did enjoy showing up for class in his underwear), and he hated possessing dolls. Perhaps he ought to keep Fridays a bit open, just in case they decided to try something again. 

* 

A bell rang, and an angel quickly folded its wings. Aziraphale was trying to be nicer to customers as a sort of post-Nonpocalypse resolution. It had manifested in a series of retail decoys, such as a pile of remaindered Mills & Boon paperbacks with a sign that said FREE TO A GOOD HOME, a department store dummy with a tweed jacket sitting behind the cash register, and an experimental portal that sent prospective browsers to another bookstore entirely. And yet, some people still were determined to subject themselves to his customer service. Ought to gently dissuade them as quickly as possible. 

He heard the indistinct piping of young female voices. Ah, that wasn't so bad. Girls tended to be a bit less sticky and a bit more respectful to books than boys, and a complete set of first edition Nancy Drews needed a perfect home... The angel sniffed the air. Chocolate. Caramel. Strawberry. As he rounded the corner, his voice rose to an aggrieved squeak. "You cannot have those--frappes--IN MY SHOP!" 

Three of the girls shrank back. The fourth calmly sipped her drink and held out another to him. "Sorry, but we brought tribute and then I wasn't going to go into a Starbucks and not get something. Uh, your friend said you liked chocolate?" It had whipped cream on top, and chocolate syrup, and also little curly flakes of chocolate. 

They'd run into Crowley, then. Aziraphale tried the drink. It was cold and sweeter than he usually preferred, but not bad. "You still need to leave those confections on the desk, please. No sticky things in the stacks." 

They complied, and then the calm redhead slipped off to explore while the other three lingered. Aziraphale kept one eye on her even as her friends peppered him with questions. 

"Do you have any Saddle Club books?"  
"Where's your bathroom?"  
"What does tribute mean, anyway? Is it just drinks?"  
"What about Sweet Valley High?"  
"So, are you the same thing as your cute friend?"  
"You know, bookstores that have cafes in them make a lot of money."  
"What about Judy Blume?"  
"Or are you a fairy or something?" 

"That's a bit of an offensive term, young lady," Aziraphale said mildly. 

"I'm sorry, do you guys prefer the term Fair Folk? Good Neighbors? Shining Ones?" 

"Oh, that reminds me--do you have the Tiffany Aching series?" 

The redhead had found something she liked, and was sitting cross-legged in the aisle to read it. Aziraphale went to loom unsubtly over her. "The Picatrix is rather an advanced text, dear." 

"Well, I'm looking for something that works." 

Aziraphale held out his hand. Wisely, the girl let him reshelve it. "Books aren't like electronic devices that work or don't. They're pieces of art, pieces of history. Yes, even the kind of books you're looking for. None of them 'work' any better than the others. It's all in what you bring to your...er, efforts." That was not entirely true for the books of astrological talismans the girl had been poking through; mishandled planetary energies could really sting. 

He ultimately sent her home with a nice sensible Scott Cunningham tome and a promise to not summon anyone she didn't already know. The Nancy Drew books remained on the shelf.


End file.
